


It's 4AM and I Think the World's Stopped Spinning

by YumeNoTsuzuki (Yumejin)



Series: Libera Me, de Pactum Aeterna [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bisexuality, Blind Character, Demon Deals, F/F, F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:05:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yumejin/pseuds/YumeNoTsuzuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After John’s mysterious disappearance almost fourteen years ago, Dean had to learn to provide for his blind mother and younger brother. Now, working for Demons might not exactly be his ideal career choice, but it gets him money <i>fast</i>. Dean is their best human operative: he knows where to find people willing to make a deal and he always tracks down the most valuable supernatural artefacts to trade. He has almost gotten used to the lifestyle – it’s been a couple of years – and now he can finally pay for Sammy’s dream of going to Stanford to come true. If only the <i>Boss</i> hadn’t caught wind of the rumours about a new darkness rising to seize control amongst the non-humans... maybe he could have lived under the delusion of normalcy for a little while longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's 4AM and I Think the World's Stopped Spinning

**Author's Note:**

> First beta pass by dragonflybeach.  
> This story can either be seen as a stand alone piece, or as a prologue to what else is to come in the series.

“Where _have you_ been?” Mary’s angry voice was the first thing to greet him upon returning home. He was exhausted, sweaty and all he wanted to do was just to shake off his shoes and collapse straight to sleep right there and then, but since when were things ever that easy?

“Work,” he ground out, forcing himself to hang up his jacket on the wall properly, instead of tossing it on the floor in his room. With a deep sigh, he faced the surprisingly accusing glare from behind the sunglasses covering his mother’s eyes.

“Sure you were. Singer called asking where you’d vanished off to, again.”

“None of his damn business what I do after hours,” Dean clenched his fist automatically, feeling the familiar anger well up inside of him. He didn’t want to give into it now, not when mom was feeling well enough to interrogate him.

“He’s your boss, Dean. And I’m worried too, you come back so late all the time,” Mary’s voice even quivered a little. Dean was surprised to find she might have actually been honest just this once.

“I brought food,” he decided it was best to dodge her questions before she got too curious. “I’ll get started on it now and bring it up for you in about half an hour, alright?” He walked into the kitchen quickly, not pausing to give her another chance to speak.

When he heard the door to her bedroom squeak shut a moment later, he released the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. 

“ _Damn it_ ,” he cursed quietly, tossing the onions on the chopping board with frustration. The day had been going quite well so far. He knew, technically he should be happy Mary was actually coherent enough to hold a conversation and inquire after his well-being, but seeing her out and about was almost worse than the alternative. He hated himself for treating his mother like this, but after nearly fourteen years of the torture that was caring for someone barely able to function on their own, he was wondering if it was his turn to go off the deep end soon. At least Sammy was off to Stanford now, settling down with Jess and all. The only problem was that now Dean was stuck with Mary on his own, with no respite in sight. It was all work, work, work and watching his mother stare unseeingly into the walls.

At least he’d finally saved up enough to comfortably get Sammy through law school and even put away some cash for a wedding gift. He knew that his brother was planning to propose to Jess any day now and while this elicited a small pang of jealousy in him, he was very happy that at least one person in their family managed to turn out alright and find their own path in life. He was going to get Sammy a car as their wedding gift - he’d already been fixing up a 1968 Chevrolet Camaro SS in secret for some time. It wasn’t the most expensive gift he could have afforded, the car was rather beat up when he bought it, but he had restored it and tuned the engine himself. Sammy would appreciate the personal touch.

Thinking about his brother made him feel better and with a small, fond smile planted on his lips, he finished up cooking and laid out the soup and bread on a tray so he could take it up to his mom.

When he entered, Mary was sitting rather stiffly in bed, listening to the radio.

“Hey mom, here’s your soup,” he placed the tray on her lap cautiously. With hesitant, slow movements, she felt around for the bowl and the spoon. She knocked it away accidentally, splashing soup over the blanket and her own pyjamas. Dean noticed that her hand was shaking.

“There you go,” he placed the spoon in her hand.

“I can do it myself,” she scoffed, closing her palm around it quickly and pulling away. The movement caused the tray to slip from her lap and land on the floor with a loud crash, spilling its contents on the carpet.

“Sorry,” Dean apologised quickly. “I’ll just, uh, take care of this, how about you go wash up? There’s soup all over the sheets.”

“Dean. Leave it be, please.” Mary’s tone was cold and clipped. She turned away from him and slid under the cover, ignoring the slight damp spots on it.

“Ok,” Dean retreated in defeat, stopping only to pick up the tray. When the door clicked shut behind him, he let himself release a frustrated groan. Even fourteen years since the Incident, she still hadn’t come to terms with the loss of her sight. It had impacted her life so much; she was never really the same again. There were days when she could smile and function almost normally, but mostly there were just days when she would curl up on the bed and ignore both him and Sammy for hours at a time.

Dean had hoped that with passing time, John’s sudden disappearance and his mom’s injury would not matter anymore. How wrong had he had been. He couldn’t blame his childish self for the optimism; he had been only 10 at the time and blissfully unaware of the burdens life would dump on him in the near future. With their dad’s disappearance, all the responsibilities of caring for Sammy and mom had fallen to him. Even with all the help from Bobby and Jody Mills, things had been desperate at best. They had barely enough money to get by – Mary couldn’t work and both he and Sammy had school to attend. Soon enough, he quit school – he hated it anyway – and started working for Bobby, at the garage. He had always helped his Dad with maintaining the Impala, so it was the logical thing to do. This way, he managed to get Sammy through school and Mary on depression and anxiety medication. After a few years, things had calmed down enough that they stopped relying on Bobby and Jody for everything and thing seemingly started to settle into some sort of normalcy.

It hadn’t been so convenient, though. Mary had been eating less and less and became steadily more unstable, becoming almost… detached from reality. She had been unable to care for Sammy at all and soon enough, it was almost as though Dean was the parent and Mary was a ghost in the attic that no-one dared to disturb. It was a very tough time for Sammy, too. When John disappeared, he was only 6 and didn’t understand why mom couldn’t make them breakfast, lunch and drive them to school anymore. He didn’t realise that their dad would likely never come back. Eventually, he seemed to accept it, but when he turned 14 and the hell of adolescence was unleashed, all of those issues resurfaced and Dean still did not know how to deal with them. He had just been going through many of the same problems himself, while putting up a façade of strength and maturity for his brother. Thank God that Sammy never caught on and somehow seemed to calm down as he grew up and eventually go on to study law and move in with his gorgeous girlfriend. Now, things should be easier for Dean. He didn’t have to constantly look out for Sam anymore; it was just him and mom. Yet, he felt just as lost as before. He didn’t know where to turn next. He’d always done everything just to make Sam and mom happy, but he was slowly coming to the realisation, that maybe, there was nothing else he could do for Mary. He had never thought of his own future, of what he could do when he ‘grew up and sent Sammy off to college’. It had seemed like such a far away, intangible idea that he could never reach, but now that the time was finally here, he didn’t know what to do.

“I’m going out!” He bellowed and only silence from upstairs acknowledged his statement. Mary was probably asleep again.

He got into the Impala, relaxing into the comforting, cool leather of the seats. It was late, probably around 10pm already, but he couldn’t stay cooped up inside for the rest of the night. He felt restless. Almost like someone was watching his every move.

“Hey, baby,” he caressed the wheel and quickly set off into the empty streets. The purr of the engine caressed his frazzled nerves. He’d always found driving relaxing, even Before; when John took him out to experience their handiwork on the car first-hand.

He really needed to get his mind off the heavy memories. It wasn’t often that he thought about John anymore, having buried all memories of him quite successfully under the heavy lid labelled ‘Before’. Today though, it was like his mind was working against him, unveiling every ugly thought he’d rather not face ever again.

When he arrived at Lena’s place, it was almost midnight. He knew it would probably be busy at this time of night, but maybe that was what he needed; a distraction. The whole block was as quiet as any normal neighbourhood at this hour, but he knew better. When he pushed past the unlocked doors of apartment 394, noise erupted all around him, though quite muted. It was a spell, he remembered someone telling him – to keep uninvited guests from prying. At the end of the empty hallway was another door. He opened it, familiar enough with the strong scent of opium and alcohol that he didn’t even flinch when it assaulted his senses together with much-too-loud music. That, at least he was used to from ‘normal’ bars.

The place was quite big, but was packed full of creatures, demons and just about any non-human imaginable. Dean was instantly on guard, but knew that no-one here would dare attack him. It was a neutral zone with a strict no-fighting rule. From the corner on the right, a group of Witches watched him predatorily, and one of them – a blonde with at least D-cup size breasts winked at him with a smile. He returned it easily, but turned to the bar, where Lena was serving drinks. Her long, chocolate brown hair fell over her shoulders in long waves, framing her pale face, which was covered with a dusting of freckles.

“Dean,” she acknowledged, turning her unnaturally pale brown, almost yellow eyes to him. In the dim lighting of the room, she looked a little like a cat watching its prey. Hell, for all he knew, she could have been part-cat. He’d seen stranger things during his nine-years of working for Cresil. The lazy bastard had him do the weirdest jobs, probably just for the kicks.

“Lena. Just the usual, please,” he replied with a curt nod, collapsing into one of the high chairs at the bar with a lazy, long sigh. His favourite beer was already being placed right under his nose.

“Thanks.” He took a long, satisfying sip, feeling the cold liquid soothe his tired throat. He’d been shouting over the roar of engines all day. “So, what’s new around here?”

“Fishing for info again?” Lena teased and a distinctly Russian accent coloured the tone of her voice vibrantly. Leaning in a little, her expression fell from amused to serious in a split second. “There’s been more talk of the _Sharks._ There have been mysterious disappearances all over recently – Witches, Vampires, everyone.” She looked extremely uncomfortable and quickly glanced around to make sure nobody else was listening. “Apparently even Demons are starting to get restless, even though they can pop out of their meatsuits if they must. I really think this is-.”

She was interrupted by some guy clearing his throat just behind Dean.

“Sorry, I don’t think my girlfriend would be too happy about that,” Lena flaunted the ring on her hand with a little smug smile at Dean. He caught on immediately and put on an offended, disappointed expression to keep up pretence. The man behind him clearly understood it too, because he merely ordered his drink and walked away without another glance at Lena.

“Oh and you might want to tell Marc he can stop asking me for your number, because he clearly thinks he has another shot with you,” Lena said when she came back. “He’s been waiting around for you every night for the last week. It’s getting a little creepy.”

He had hoped she would continue their conversation from before, but it was not likely since they had already been interrupted once. It wasn’t safe.

“I’ll be sure to let him know,” Dean groaned, looking over to the table where the man was sitting, thankfully facing away from them. He’d probably blow up if he saw Lena whispering into Dean’s ear, he was that petty and jealous. Yeah, Dean probably shouldn’t have given in to his oppressive advances, but alcohol made it seem like a good idea at the time – he’d been almost dying from blue balls, having been too busy to get laid for well over a month. Tracking down a recipe for an original, ancient balm which preserved the body after death proved quite a challenge and the Necromancer he’d been forced to take along with him had been a massive pain in the ass. Just their arguing added an extra week to the job, because they couldn’t agree on anything. When he finally dragged himself back home, he had practically flown over to Lena’s and found himself a quick one night stand to relieve the built-up tension. Well, he’d hit worse, he supposed. One time he even got himself whammied by a siren. That wasn’t something he particularly wished a repeat of.

The gentle buzz of alcohol settled his nerves and he found himself actually enjoying the rest of the night in the company of a slightly crazy, older guy who was a genius at poker and a Snow Woman ‘straight from Japan’ who was apparently an honour guest of Lena’s. She could barely speak any English and seemed a bit thrown off by Western culture in general, but was a decent companion nonetheless. She didn’t try to freeze his dick off for being too forward, which was a huge motivator to stay on her good side.

It wasn’t until around 4 am that he actually made it back home, still lightly buzzed but _probably_ fit to drive. Something felt off. The moment he stepped through the door, he just _knew_ something was terribly wrong.  

“Mom?” he called out in alarm, quickly running up the stairs. The bedroom door was left slightly ajar. Mary never left it open…

“Mom?” he yelled again, pushing the door aside. Mary was bound and held roughly by two tall men, both looking somewhat dirty and ragged. Dean instantly had his knife out, ready to attack.

“Cresil sent us. Apparently our Boss is collecting all his debts at once and you’re the first on our list. Top operative an’ all. Mommy should be proud,” the Demon on the left let his eyes flash black as he traced Mary’s neck with a long, sharp nail. It left an ugly, red line in its wake.  Dean’s grip on his knife tightened and he attacked, seeing red in anger.

“Dean, don’t! They’re demons!” Mary screamed, trying to wrestle from their grasp. “Get salt!”

Dean had no time to think about why his mom knew that; he just jumped forward, swinging the knife quickly.  In the blink of an eye, one of the Demons was beside him, crushing his right wrist in a deathly grip. The knife fell to the ground with a dull thud. A fist quickly hit his stomach, the man had Dean overpowered in mere seconds. Mary screamed and wrenched herself from the other Demon’s hold, procuring a small silver knife seemingly out of nowhere. She sliced the Demon’s throat as though it was nothing and she could see everything. Dean could only stare and try to resist the superior strength of the Demon dominating him. Mary took an uncertain step forward and swung an arm, aiming a thrust into the Demon’s back. She missed, when the Demon rolled right over Dean swiftly. He let go and looked up at Mary instead.

“You’re not half bad for a blind whore,” the Demon hissed, baring his teeth. “It will be my pleasure breaking you.” He took out a long knife of his own; it was dirty and had a barbed edge. He even licked it tauntingly before thrusting forward. Mary was swift on her feet and handled her blade like a pro, but even then, it was obvious she couldn’t see and was acting on instinct. The Demon knew that and with a brutal charge forward, he slashed across Mary’s chest with a loud yell of satisfaction. She crumbled to the floor, still trying to raise her knife in defence.

“You’re weaker than I thought after all,” the Demon spat on her, disappointed. His lapse of concentration was long enough for Dean to finally get a grip on himself, pick up the abandoned knife from the floor and hack the monster’s head clean off.

“Mom!” he fell to his knees next to her, helpless to stop the flow of blood from her open wound. She was barely holding on, but she raised a hand to cup his cheek.

“Dean… you’ve been so brave,” she whispered, coughing a little. Dean hated this instantly; it was too much like a near-death speech in every action movie ever. He couldn’t let that happen.

“It’s gonna be fine, mom, I’ll get you to a hospital soon,” he reassured, trying to find something – anything to stop the bleeding.

“Dean, it’s fine…” Mary whispered; her words strained. “They’re Demons, they can’t be killed this way… they will keep hunting you, forever. Once you see them, they see you,” she smiled apologetically and tears were now running down her face.

“Mom, don’t quote Constantine on me now. You can get through this!” Dean took off his jacket and pressed it to the wound tightly. His hands were shaking.

“It’s fine, Dean. At least I can join your dad now,” Mary smiled almost blissfully and it almost blinded Dean momentarily. He’d never seen her smile so brightly, not in the last fourteen years.

“Just…take your father’s journal and run, please,” she begged, putting her bloodied hand over his gently. “I’ve lost too much blood anyway. Please, run. They will be back up soon.” She coughed blood and Dean couldn’t stand this anymore.

“Just… shut up, Mom, I’ll get you out,” he didn’t want the useless journal. It was a worthless relic of a man who left them many years ago. He’d rather have his mom, alive. He picked her up as gently as he could and ran down the stairs and towards the car. He could already hear the Demon’s cursing and snarling as they chased after him. He was just placing Mary on the back seat of the Impala, trying his best to ignore the pool of blood under his hands, when one of the Demons caught up to him. He had a knife out and tried to aim for Dean, but he was faster.

Betting it all on one punch, he smashed his fist into the Demon’s jaw, sending him almost flying backwards. Not looking back, Dean jumped into the front seat of his car and drove off at full speed, leaving the enraged two men in the darkness behind.

“Dean…” Mary choked out weakly from the back seat. “The journal…”

“Will you stop with the stupid journal!” Dean practically screamed, chastising himself for it a second later. “Let’s get you some help. Don’t quit on us now, not after everything.”

“Dean… please…” Mary coughed and Dean listened to his own frantic heartbeat, mindlessly driving forward. It took him a long moment to realise she didn’t continue. Worried, he whipped his head around. Mary’s eyes stared at the roof of the car lifelessly.

“No! Mom!”

He slammed his foot down on the brake in panic and squeezed through the gap between the front seats into the back.

“Mom?”

❖

Sam was having a nice, quiet lunch with Jess , who was excitedly chattering away about a friend of hers who managed to fail every single test in the academic year even though she studied every day, when the ding of the doorbell snapped him out of all thoughts of just taking the little jewellery box out of his pocket.

“Did you invite anyone? We never get unexpected visitors,” Jess frowned in confusion. She had a little bread crumb stuck to her lip, it was adorable, if Sam was allowed to think so.

“I’ll get it,” he said quickly, hoping to use a minute to strengthen his resolve to finally propose.

When he opened the door, the sight in front of him was enough to render him speechless with shock.

“Dean?” he choked out after a moment. His brother was covered in dirt, blood and looked like he hadn’t slept all night. There was redness around his eyes, he’d even been crying. Sam’s heart froze.

“I’ll be back in five!” he shouted vaguely into the house and quickly stepped out, closing the door behind them. He didn’t want to let Jess see Dean like this, it would scare her.

Dean stood frozen in front of him, his eyes cast down and empty.

“Dean? What happened?” Sam’s voice shook a little with anxiety.

“Tell Jess to go to someone else for her own safety and stay there for the night. Meet me in the car,” Dean seemed to force himself to say, before stalking off to the Impala with heavy steps.

Sam was confused, but he also knew his brother would not bother him if it wasn’t extremely important. He had always placed Sam before anyone else, much to Sam’s discomfort. He hated knowing how much his brother had sacrificed to make life at least a little normal for him. He’d never asked for it, it was as if Dean had been running on autopilot since the Incident. It was always ‘look out for Sammy. Nothing else matters.’

So he followed Dean’s demand at once, sending a very distraught Jess to her friend’s house for the night, sharing a quick kiss with her before leaving to meet Dean in the car. They drove off quickly and in a tense silence, Dean stared ahead with his lips forming a thin line.

“Mom is dead,” he finally said levelly; voice cold and distant. Sam felt his heart stop for a long moment and then come alive furiously, trying to jump out of his chest.

“What?! How? Dean!” he tried to get his brother to look at him desperately.  “What happened?”

“It was my fault,” Dean ground out and now Sam could see the imminent onset of anger. It was swirling just beneath the surface, he could see it in his brother’s green eyes, which were now shadowed with grief and guilt battling for dominance.

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Sam reassured. Dean was the most caring and responsible person he knew. “Just… tell me what happened?” he tried to remain calm, though he could feel his own emotions bubbling up. He hadn’t expected this. To him, Mary stopped being a mother the moment she attempted suicide by overdose the first time. He had been only 12 at the time. Dean thought he didn’t know, but Sam was far more perceptive than he let on. Mary might have been a mother to him once, but for over half of his life, it was Dean who always took care of him – who put him to bed when he was a kid and who gave him the sex talk when he hit puberty. Mary was… just a woman who lived with them. He could only vaguely remember her from before the Incident – smiling and warm. There was the smell of pie, but everything else was a blurry haze. Most of his memories of her were far less than this pleasant. That was not to say he did not feel anything… but the news of her death hadn’t really hit home yet.

“I’ve been working with a Demon called Cresil since we made a contract when I was 15. I did simple jobs and got paid five times more than at Bobby’s. His cronies showed up at our house this morning and…” Dean’s voice caught in his throat. He didn’t say another word.

Sam was half tempted to ask what the hell his brother had been smoking. Demons?

“Did they…?” he asked tentatively instead, knowing that Dean was serious.

“Slit her chest right open. There was so much blood,” his brother managed to whisper hoarsely, looking broken and defeated. It was another moment of silence, before Dean finally turned to look him in the eyes.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Sam didn’t either.  For the first time ever, Dean had admitted weakness in front of him. He had known his brother was only human, but seeing him so defeated was sending Sam’s orderly mind into turmoil.

“I think they will be back for me. They weren’t after Mom.”

Dean swallowed loudly, again not daring to look Sam in the eyes. “I don’t want to put you in danger Sammy.”

He immediately knew where this was going. Dean was going to play hero again and try to protect him.

“Dean,” he looked at his brother pointedly, pausing to make sure he had his full attention. Dean tended to become defensive whenever Sam tried to reason with him. “I can take care of myself. I’m 20 already. The question is: what are you planning to do now?”

“Sam, _no_! I just came here to tell you… that I might not make it back. Mom’s last words were to get Dad’s journal back, so I‘m going back to the house for it. They will be waiting for me, I fucking know it,” Dean’s hands clenched on the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were chalk white.  “I’m going to at least take those sons of bitches down with me.”

“What the fuck,” Sam swore and clearly, and it had the desired effect of shutting his brother up for a moment. “I know you, Dean. You’ve taken care of me since before I can remember and I can never be grateful enough. You paid for my tuition for the next five years and even helped me move to Jess’. And that’s precisely why I’m not letting you go on your own. You’ve protected me long enough.”

He looked at Dean, whose expression was unreadable, focused on the road ahead.

“Please let me do the same for you just this once.”

Finally, this seemed to breach Dean’s impeccable emotional wall and he slammed his foot down on the breaks.

“Fine. But at the first sign of trouble, you run. You’ve got Stanford and Jess, a whole life to look forward to. You’ve got to go back to it, Sammy. You can’t stop here,” Dean turned to him and Sam could tell just how much it was costing him to say it. He’d never been emotional or overly sharing with Sam, in fact he was stubborn as fuck, but he was still his brother. Sam understood and nodded.

He didn’t have any intention of running away and leaving Dean to die at the hands of some satanic psychos.

❖

They buried Mary in a forest, amongst wild flowers. She would have liked that, Dean told Sammy, while placing a makeshift headstone over the freshly covered grave. Sam wasn’t so sure she’d have cared.

There would be no big ceremony, no speeches. They didn’t need them either way.

 

When they arrived back at the house again, it was under the cover of night. It was quiet and seemingly nothing was out of the ordinary. Dean was not fooled. Knives in hand, he led Sammy in through the back door. Carefully, they went up to Mary’s room. The memories were still too fresh and Dean’s heart beat was so fast he thought the whole continent could hear it try to burst out of him in panic. He wouldn’t stop there though.

The bastards were waiting, as expected, with long, bloodied blades at the ready and not so much as a scratch on either body. Beside him, Sam drew in a long, startled breath when both of the Demon’s eyes changed to deep pools of black, glistening in the darkness.

“You’ve kept us waiting long enough,” the Demon on the left whined, licking his lips with visible anticipation. Dean felt a shudder of disgust ripple through his spine, but he was ready this time.

“Go die, you ugly son of a bitch,” he muttered, charging ahead. All thoughts of making Sammy run were gone in an instant. His blood was boiling, pushing him to swing faster, stronger. The fucker had _to pay._ The Demon laughed, dodging him with practiced ease. Dean was not deterred though and moved forward quickly, drawing another blade from his pocket. He managed to cut the Demon’s arm. There was smoke rising from the open wound and the Demon shrieked.

“They’ve got silver knives!” the Demon shouted to his partner, who was quickly overpowered by Sam’s tall, powerful form. Dean didn’t stop to appreciate the view or be proud of his brother, instead plunging his blade deep into the stupid Demon’s throat. And then again just for good measure.

“Dean. He’s dead,” Sam said in an oddly calm voice a minute later, tapping his shoulder lightly. His face was splattered with blood and behind him; Dean could see two knives sticking out of the other Demon’s chest, right over his heart.

“…Yeah,” he collected himself after a moment, though his mind was still reeling from the absurdity of the whole situation. He had to concentrate, though. Protect Sammy.

“Get those knives out, before he can heal and use them against us,” Dean commanded quickly, reigning in his confusion for just a while longer. “Let’s lock them in the basement.”

Sam didn’t protest, following his older brother’s orders as swiftly as always. They carried each Demon in turn, not caring if their heads bumped on the stairs a couple of times along the way. The basement was not actually much of a basement – barely a small room where they stored food. It had locks though.

“Let’s just close it up,” Dean was eager not to look at the bloodied bodies any longer than was absolutely necessary. It was shameful to admit, but his stomach was twisting sickeningly at the sight and he only held back vomit through sheer force of will. Judging by Sammy’s almost green pallor, he wasn’t faring much better. Fuck.

Dean hadn’t wanted to involve Sam at all, but it was too late now. Once you see them, they see you, like Mom had said.

“Let’s find that goddamned journal already,” he huffed and ran back up the stairs, knowing Sam was following merely steps behind. Mary’s room was covered in splatters of blood and the Demon’s weapons were still lying on the floor, miserably innocent without their owners. Dean kicked them both under the bed with disdain.

He searched the drawers, while Sam checked the desk. The journal wasn’t hidden particularly well. They had both seen it many times throughout the years – sometimes Mary would sit and caress the leather binding mindlessly for hours, likely remembering better, happier times. Still, they had never been allowed to see it.

Dean held the small book with trepidation.

“What do you think it is?” Sam wondered aloud, curiously peeking over his shoulders. Dean didn’t comment on how disturbing the sight of his little brother covered in blood really was.

“No idea. Could be a freaking cookbook for all I know.”

It took him a moment to finally work up the courage to open it. The pages were full of scribbles, notes and drawings. Pictures were glued in here and there. It was almost like some… occult encyclopaedia.

“Dean, do you think… Dad hunted these things? It says everywhere: how to identify the signs, find and kill…” Sam’s voice was small, almost as if he was six again, asking Dean why daddy didn’t protect mommy from the fire.

Dean hadn’t told Sam the entire truth, not ever. Mary didn’t speak of it either and that was how the Incident was created - a neat little Winchester taboo. The official story said it was a fire. Mary’s eyes were surrounded by burn-like scarring and their house had burned down that night, supporting that particular lie, but Dean knew what he saw. He still had nightmares about it, even now.

“Yeah. I think I’ve known even… Before. I just didn’t want to think about it,” he nodded, not ready to reveal that particular truth yet, if he could avoid it. Sam had a life to go back to. He didn’t need the burden of all this crazy knowledge. He really wanted Sammy to marry Jess, have a bunch of sickeningly cute, normal kids and their own house. He wanted his little brother to grow old and tell his kids the same stories Dean read him when they were younger. Sam had no place in this whole other world full of Werewolves, Kappa, Goblins and every possible nightmare he could think of, very real, very deadly and ready to kill.

“I hate to break the moment, but I believe you have something that belongs to me,” a new voice drawled from behind them. The Scottish accent and the smooth, deceivingly smooth tone told him immediately it wasn’t Cresil. This Demon had a much more powerful aura around him. This one was far more dangerous.

“Who are you?” Sam demanded at once, raising the blade which never left his hand. Dean was quick to follow the example.

“What a warm welcome,” the Demon sneered, seemingly not bothered at all by the threat. “I heard two of my Demons encountered something unusual, so I kindly took some time out to visit. What do I find? Blood everywhere and two Winchesters messing with things they have no business knowing about.”

“They killed Mom,” Dean snarled, not letting his hand shake even a little. He was ready to attack – this was the Boss, the one who had commissioned for Dean to be ‘taken care of’. Somehow, he just knew that.

“Ah, yes. I’m terribly sorry about that. I told them explicitly – take Dean Winchester’s soul and deliver it to me, ASAP. I see the message clearly didn’t stick. I like my business clean, you see. I will have them disciplined as soon as I collect what you owe me and return to Hell with those two morons.”

“You can take your sorry and shove it up your ass, Demon,” Sam growled. Dean was surprised, Sam almost never reacted so strongly and virtually never when the situation revolved around their Mom.

The Demon swiped his hands and an invisible force threw them both into the wall with painful strength. Sam cried out in pain, collapsing to the floor. Dean was luckier and landed almost on his feet, still holding the knife in one hand and the book in the other.

“It’s not even been 10 years!” he growled, steadily eyeing the demon. It seemed he was content not to attack so long as he was not provoked. “The deal was 25.”

“Well, drastic situations call for desperate measures. I need all the workforce I can get, even if it involves playing a little… _dirty_ ,” the Demon smirked indulgently at the word.

“Keep your end of the Deal and I will keep mine,” Dean negotiated, trying to retain at least a little of his composure. He needed to get Sammy to safety, which was his first priority.

“No can do, boys,” the Demon looked at Sam, who was slowly coming to, weakly pushing himself up against the wall, trying to stand.

“Now, let’s not draw this out any longer than we must. I have plenty of others to visit tonight. My employees seem woefully incapable of doing anything correctly themselves.”

The Demon walked briskly towards Dean with his hand trained on him like a remote, keeping the invisible bindings around him. Dean couldn’t so much as move a finger, and suddenly the hand, cold and hot at the same time, was reaching _inside_ of him, clawing out the very essence that made him Human. He couldn’t breathe and the last thing he saw was Sam’s horrified, silent scream before everything blacked out.

❖

“Anael,” Castiel greeted his Sister. It had been a long time.

“Castiel,” she returned and her grace enveloped him tightly with warmth and affection. He had never understood Anael’s need for such a display of emotion.

“I assume your mission on Earth was completed successfully,” he inquired, admittedly somewhat curious.

“Yes. Though that is not why I seek your presence, Brother. There are new orders for you, from Above.” Her presence shifted with discomfort around him. Castiel remained unaffected, merely awaiting his instructions. If he wanted to know more about Earth, where he had never been – only heard stories of, he chose not to show it.

“You must save the Righteous Man from Perdition,” Anael’s voice grew distant from him. Castiel would not admit to it, but a new, foreign force welled up in his grace for a fleeting moment – anticipation, excitement, he could not discern. Emotions had never been a concern of his.

“ _I humbly serve_ ,” he acknowledged, inclining his wings in a gesture of subservience expected of his rank. “However if I may question, is John Winchester not lost to us?”

“We have been unable to locate his soul on Assiah.” Anael’s grace retreated a little. “His blood carries on in his eldest son, who this order pertains to.”

“I understand I am to leave at once.” Castiel shifted, drawing his form to full size, unfurling his wings with a burst of power. After nearly a full millennia of inactivity in the physical aspect, it was almost difficult, but his grace never forgot the motions.

“Be swift, Brother. He is in danger,” Anael extended her grace to him once more, in an embrace. “And be careful, please.”

“I shall heed your advice, Anna. Thank you.”

In a moment, the presence of the Host around him dissolved and the sound of screaming filled his senses. There was a Demon in front of him, holding the soul of Dean Winchester, clutched in his palm as the mortal collapsed limply to the ground. The Demon’s presence was foul, twisted and rotten like the lands of Gehenna – steeped in the blood and fire of tortured souls.

“Hello angel,” the Demon drawled and made a move, but Castiel was faster. His grace contorted, altering the reality of the plane of Assiah to his bidding. With a swift, strong grasp, he tore the soul from the Demon’s claws, curling himself around it protectively. The Demon, burned by his touch, screamed and vanished with a quick mutter of a spell.

Castiel looked at the soul in his hands closely. It was shaking in his grasp, overcome with fear, yet it shone brightly, so blindingly pure and beautiful. He could not resist touching it with a string of his grace, to reach out to that delicate, raw form of their Father’s Creation. It was an overwhelming sensation, to experience the unbridled force that was the human soul, untamed and wild.

It stirred under the caress of Castiel’s grace.

 _‘Who are you’_ it seemed to be asking as it curiously leaned in closer to the celestial essence of his touch. Despite his reservations, Castiel was pulled into the powerful, swirling emotions emanating from the soul.

“You are safe, Dean Winchester. I am Castiel, an Angel of the Lord and I will protect your soul from the abominations of Gehenna,” he reassured the Human, wrapping his grace around it protectively, before stretching out to the prone mortal body. The soul was trying to resist and run away – once ripped from the flesh and exposed to the grace of an Angel, it was scared of being reunited with its vulnerable, weak and aging body. Castiel caressed it gently, whispering a prayer as he placed the soul back in its rightful place with care.

The Human breathed again, sharp and painful, but did not wake. Beside him, the younger Winchester was also unconscious, likely due to the intensity of an Angel’s grace stirring the air around them. Castiel retreated, knowing his presence was likely dangerous to the mortals. His grace was already longing for the untamed, powerful waves of emotion from the soul he had cradled in himself and protected, but once again, all that was left within him was an empty void. He had fulfilled his orders and now it was time to return.

Unaware of the consequences of his actions and the fate which had yet to befall the young brothers, Castiel returned to the Divine plane, reporting his mission accomplished to Anael.

Only then, with a worried whir of her grace, his sister told him - the fight to prevent Dean Winchester’s soul from a spiralling descent into the fires of Sheol and Gehenna had only just begun.

 


End file.
